


Don't You (Forget About Me)

by Gort



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friendship, Grieving, Letters from 1982, Meet-Cute, Post-Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gort/pseuds/Gort
Summary: No SHIELD AU. Post Season 7. In an alternate timeline, Bobbi Morse starts getting letters from a man she doesn’t know. But whoever Mack is, he sure seems to know a lot about her.
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie & Bobbi Morse, Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Don't You (Forget About Me)

The first letter arrived the day after her eighteenth birthday.

A small, unassuming envelope with a crease down the center and well-worn edges, like it’d been found wedged behind a desk somewhere and mailed years after it’d been written. It was a little strange.

But the contents catapulted it directly into bizarro land.

_Dear Barbara,_

_You probably prefer Bobbi by now, but old habits die hard, and if I can’t be there to rib you in person, this is going to have to do. I’m probably breaking a bunch of time laws, if those even exist, but to hell with it. You’d do the same for me._

_I remember you said once that if you could go back, you’d tell your teenage self not to worry so much about making mistakes, because failure sucks but you never would have forgiven yourself if you hadn’t even tried. Granted, you were a little inebriated at the time, and you ended up deciding that particular mistake wasn’t one at all, but I thought I’d pass it along._

_Consider it a birthday present from an old friend you probably haven’t met yet, if we do at all. I’d like to think we’d be friends in any world, but things have changed so much I’m not sure it’s possible this time around._

_So, Happy Birthday, to one of the best people I know. Wherever you go from here, you’ll do great things, Bobbi Morse. That’s one thing that will never change._

_Your friend,_

_Mack_

“What the hell?” Bobbi checked the envelope, but there was no return address, and it was postmarked from right here in town, which didn’t help in the slightest. She didn’t know anyone named Mack.

If it weren’t for the weird sentimental vibe, she would have thought some jerk was playing a prank on her. Except no one was going to set up an elaborate ruse pretending to be from the future—or some alternate universe?—without trying to get her to do something that would make her look stupid.

She squinted at the envelope again, just in case she’d somehow managed to get mail for some other Barbara Morse that went by Bobbi, however improbable that might be, but the address scribbled on the front was definitely hers.

“Barbara!” her mother called impatiently up the stairs. “Dinner’s getting cold!”

“Coming!” she hollered back, hastily shoving the letter into her top dresser drawer. She’d investigate it later, after she explained to her parents for the thousandth time that she’d picked Georgia Tech because the science program was fantastic, not because it was on the other side of the country (although the 3000 miles between them was definitely going to be a bonus). It had been the dinner topic of choice for the last two weeks, and every argument convinced her all over again that she’d made the right decision.

Maybe it’d taken her a while to settle on which college to go to, but that was important, life-changing stuff and not the kind of decision she could afford to screw up. She narrowed her eyes at her dresser.

Failure wasn’t an option.

* * *

The second letter came when she was twenty-three, in the middle of a particularly frustrating research project, and exactly twelve days after she’d buried her father.

It was mixed in with the condolence cards and the usual junk mail, but she recognized the faded handwriting and creased envelope immediately. _Bobbi Morse_ was spelled out in large, looping letters, just like last time, but the address was typewritten.

She frowned at it, carefully examining the front and the back for anything that might tell her who sent it, but the paper was plain and unassuming. Once again, it’d been postmarked right here in San Diego.

Someone was keeping tabs on her.

Bobbi spun in a slow circle, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her apartment lobby was deserted, the last of the sunlight was shining on the empty cars parked on the street outside, and no one was hiding behind the dusty plastic palm that’d been sitting in a corner since she’d moved in.

The three thousand miles between her and her parents had shrunk to fifteen after her father’s cancer diagnosis, but luckily, she’d been able to transfer with most of her credits intact. He’d lived long enough to see her graduate, though he’d been a shadow of his former self when he finally passed. People kept saying they were sorry, but deep, deep down, she was almost relieved. No one deserved to live with that much pain, and they wouldn’t have to, not if her research went the way she hoped. And if she could figure out the math for her latest hypothesis. 

Slowly, she climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment, debating whether she should open the letter or not. It’d been so long since the first one, she’d convinced herself it really had been a dumb joke someone hadn’t followed through on. 

Tossing the rest of the mail on her wobbly, hand-me-down kitchen table, she stood for a moment, turning the envelope over in her hands. The last one had said she shouldn’t be afraid of mistakes, but so far, none of her mistakes were ones she ever wanted to make again. Still, it might be a nice distraction.

She opened it.

_Dear Barbara,_

_I know I probably shouldn’t, but I wanted to write and tell you I’m sorry just in case I’m not around to do it in person. April is a rough month for us. At least, it used to be. Maybe this world is a little kinder, but from what I’ve seen so far, I doubt it._

Bobbi inhaled sharply, then turned to peer out the window. A family passed, the kids shrieking as they stomped through puddles left by a fleeting spring rainstorm, and an old man shuffled into a dingy bar across the street. No one was staring up at her apartment with a knowing smile. No one seemed to be paying her any attention at all.

She glanced down at the paper in her hand. If this was a prank, it was one she didn’t understand in the slightest. Flopping onto the couch with a sigh, she continued reading.

_I never met him, but I know he was a good man, and I also know no matter how or when it happens, you’re never prepared to lose someone you love._

_Not a day goes by when I don’t think about everyone we’ve lost. I can’t tell you it’ll get better, because some hurts permanently mark your soul, but I can tell you that you’re not alone. You’ve always got people who love you, don’t forget that. No matter when or where. Maybe they’re different this time around, hell, maybe some of them don’t even exist, but I know you, and if there’s one certainty in this screwed up universe, it’s your big damn heart._

_Take care of yourself, Barbara._

_Your Friend,_

_Mack_

Bobbi swallowed around the lump in her throat, her eyes stinging with unshed tears, and flung the letter away, watching it float to the floor. Grabbing a pillow, she hugged it tight and glared at the stupid, innocuous piece of paper, feeling like an idiot. She’d had dozens of people offer their sympathy, but none of them had affected her the way a stranger’s handwritten, heartfelt note had.

If she’d had a return address, she would have sent it right back and told him to never write again.

* * *

“Ouch!” Bobbi withdrew her hand from the mailbox and peered inside, irritated. The offending envelope’s seal hadn’t held, and she yanked it out, leaving tiny spots of blood on her mail.

It was one of Mack’s.

“Of course,” she grumbled at the familiar envelope, creased and yellowing, with her name across the front. It’d been eight years since her father’s death and the last letter, and she’d assumed whoever was writing had gotten bored of pretending to be from the future, or the past, or whatever.

She hesitated for a moment and considered just tossing it in the trash, or scrawling ‘not at this address’ across the front and letting the post office deal with it, but one of the other envelopes had a cream and grey color scheme she recognized immediately, and she definitely wasn’t ready to deal with an invitation to her mother’s second marriage.

Sighing, Bobbi headed for the elevator and rode in silence up to the sixth floor. It was well past dinner, but her favorite take-out place was still delivering. She deserved some Pad Thai after today. The lab tests weren’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped, but she was getting a lot of promising data.

Entering her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and dropped the rest of her mail on the counter before flopping back onto the couch with Mack’s envelope. The apartment was eerily quiet, the same as it had been since Aaron had moved out two months before, taking the dog with him.

The dog was the only thing she missed. The man had been yet another mistake that didn’t bear repeating.

Bobbi snuggled against the couch cushions and peeled the envelope open the rest of the way. She didn’t have the time for a pet that demanded walks at all hours, but maybe she could get a fish just so she wasn’t just talking to herself when she was home.

She pulled out the single sheet of paper and unfolded it.

_Bobbi,_

_Sunset, August 14, 2011. Ocean Beach Pier._

_Just so you don’t have any regrets._

_-Mack_

“That’s it?” Bobbi muttered. Turning it over, she examined the back, but there was nothing more. It was hardly a letter at all. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, this was an invitation. Three days from now, she’d finally meet the mysterious Mack.

This, she couldn’t pass up.

* * *

Squinting against the sunlight, Bobbi peered over her sunglasses and watched another crowd of tourists wander past her bench. She’d been stationed here for the better part of an hour, but no one had approached her. Whoever Mack was, maybe he was really waiting for sunset.

The clouds overhead were just beginning to turn pink, and the surf crashed rhythmically onto the beach below. Seagulls wheeled around the handful of fishermen stationed along the walkway, and the air was warm, but the wind coming off the Pacific kept the heat from becoming overwhelming.

If she hadn’t been skulking around playing spy, it would have been a perfect day to enjoy a walk on the pier. Lifting her hair to let the cool breeze reach the back of her neck, she stretched out her legs and sighed. At least she’d finally had an excuse to wear one of the cute sundresses that’d been languishing in her closet. 

“Well, that’s not very fair,” an accented voice drawled.

Bobbi started as a man slid onto her bench, leaving plenty of space between them. He couldn’t have been much older than her, with close-cropped brown hair and just enough stubble to announce he didn’t bother shaving every day, but he wasn’t entirely against it.

“What’s not fair?” she asked warily, her heart thumping a little faster. She’d been picturing someone a lot older, based on the age of the letters. 

He leaned back, stretching an arm across the top of the bench, and gazed out over the ocean, his eyes hidden by a pair of aviators. “You, sitting here. How’s the sunset supposed to compete with that?”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. Or this was just a guy who knew he was cute enough to get away with hitting on a complete stranger.

“Does that usually work for you?”

“What, the sunset line?” He grinned, and it took all her willpower not to smile back. “Guess it depends on what happens next.”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“You sure it’s not me?”

“I’m sure,” she said wryly, though she couldn’t suppress her smile any longer. “Unless your name is Mack.”

The man tilted his head, and slipped his sunglasses off, tapping them on his knee. His brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight, a honeyed amber framed by unfairly thick lashes. A flush of pink decorated his cheekbones and the tip of his nose, and she idly wondered if he’d spend his day on the beach playing volleyball or out in the water. Those broad shoulders had to come from somewhere.

“Uh, no,” he said, his tone suddenly more uncertain than flirty. “But I think he might have sent me?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bobbi asked. 

“Hang on.” Hunter hastily dug into his pants pocket, his sunglasses falling to the wooden pier with a clatter. “Look.”

He shoved a piece of paper into Bobbi’s hand and she stared, at a loss for words. It’s clearly been folded and unfolded dozens of times, the edges worn and soft, and the handwriting was unsettlingly familiar.

_Hunter,_

_Sunset, August 14, 2011. Ocean Beach Pier._

_You’ll know her when you see her. Don’t screw it up._

_-Mack_

“Is this some kind of joke?” Bobbi breathed. “Because it’s seriously not funny.”

“Do you know him?” Hunter asked. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the hell sent this since last year. Thought it was a mate taking the piss.”

“Last year?” Bobbi blinked at the paper in her hand. “I just got mine…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“When?” Hunter leaned forward, his brow furrowed, and Bobbi found herself missing his unguarded smile. 

“Three days ago,” she admitted.

He blinked at her, then bent down to retrieve his sunglasses, hooking them on the front of his white t-shirt. “So, definitely not one of my mates, then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, like they’d let me get first crack at someone as gorgeous as you.”

Bobbi laughed and was rewarded with a flash of dimples. “Fine, we can rule them out. Is this the only one you got?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He’s sent me three.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but this seems like kind of a weird way to get dates.”

“The first two were just letters. Normal ones.”

Letters about loss and regret and mistakes that weren’t. Things she understood a little more with each passing year, even if she wasn’t sure why Mack had chosen to share them with her.

She swallowed her skepticism and held out her hand. “Bobbi Morse.”

Hunter reached out to shake it, his grip firm and sure. “Lance Hunter.”

“So, what brings you to San Diego, Lance Hunter?”

“If I say a letter because I can’t resist a challenge, how likely is it you’ll let me take you to dinner?”

“I’d say the chances are good.”

“I promise we’ll have fun.”

Bobbi had no doubt of that. It had always been the serious part she’d had trouble with. “You really came here because of a letter?” 

“I did, and I’ve got absolutely no regrets.”

“We’ve known each other for five minutes.”

“Feels longer though, doesn’t it?” He wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingertip.

She pretended to consider it. “Like almost ten minutes.”

He let out a laugh, tipping his head back to expose his tanned throat to the waning sunlight, and her toes curled in her sandals.

Maybe she didn’t understand why Mack had sent the letters, but she was starting to get an inkling as to why he’d sent Hunter. Bobbi leaned into his touch, watching the sun sink below the horizon. The wispy clouds overhead turned orange, and the waves sparkled like a thousand tiny stars.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

There was a long silence as the shadows lengthened, stretching toward their bench on the pier. “I’m not much for fate,” Hunter finally said. “But maybe there are just some people you always know.”

Bobbi took a breath and turned her palm up on the bench between them. A moment later, Hunter slotted their fingers together.

You couldn’t fail if you didn’t try, but there were worse things in life.

Like never getting the chance to try at all


End file.
